She’d had enough of fretting over his moods and his broodings, and enough of the torment at wondering, while he’d been entrenched in Mount’s Bay, whether he had contrived to re-establish old ground with his old love. This desire to move had nothing to do with Philip. It was her. That red-headed picture of mock innocence, that unrelenting siren. Kerensa Pengarron was still succeeding in keeping her hold on Clem.

They were having an affair! Why else had she engineered her husband’s exit from his fine house? She was a ruthless tactician, to get an autocratic, arrogant swine like Sir Oliver Pengarron to desert his own house, even temporarily.

In one fierce arc, Catherine swept everything on top of her dressing table on to the floor.

‘Cathy—’

Clem leapt aside as brushes, jewellery, lace runners, china receptacles and scented missiles crashed and smashed, thundered and rolled in all directions about the room.

‘Go to her, go on, go now if it’s what you want so much!’

She faced him in the biggest fury of all time. She wasn’t crying, just shaking from head to toe, scarlet-faced and claw-fingered. It seemed she would bring down every drape with the wind of her breath. ‘If you want to move back to your precious Kerensa, then just go to her. Don’t give another thought to me or John or Flora or Kenver or your newest grandchild. Just get out of the house, go to her for good, and – and take your blasted dogs with you!’

‘Stop it! What’s got into you?’ This violence, this rage, this loathing was so out of character. Her accusation neither nettled or disturbed him, but he was concerned for her.

He had told the truth to Kenver about loving her. He held her in every high regard, she was an excellent woman, her heart kind and true, empty of any hypocrisy. And now she had showed her vulnerable, human side, he loved her all the more.

‘I’d just come up to tell you I agree with everything you’ve said about Philip. I needed a good talking to. I wasn’t seeing things in the right light.’

‘Oh, shut up,’ she gasped almost inaudibly, but in such a way it gained his attention even more.

The ferocity, the moment of madness went out of her. She stood in the middle of the mess and breakages, shocked with herself for creating such chaos. ‘You’re cruel, Clem, and your pride is so often misplaced. You and Sir Oliver Pengarron are much alike.’

What! Clem nearly exploded, then caught himself. He resented the comparison. ‘Why talk of him? What’s he got to do with Philip, or whether we stay or leave here?’